White Horseman, Take Me Home
by FragMinded
Summary: Death was almost offended that they thought sending an angel after Sam would fool him. But Dean is unwilling to let Sam go without a fight. Will Dean's pleas reach Sam or did his attempt at saving him push his brother to his demise?
1. Chapter 1

~**A/N:** This story takes place during Season 9's "I think I'm Going to Like it Here." Quite obvious by the dialogue during the first portion, I needed to borrow from the episode to bring about Death's realization. I've always wondered why Death allowed Sam to say "yes" to Gadreel or if he even recognized that the Dean Sam was speaking to wasn't Dean at all. So this is my take on what would happen if he had noticed and cared enough to prevent it. This will be a multiple chapter story with a possible second part...depending. I hope you all enjoy! *Frag* ~

~**DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing relating to Supernatural, its stories, or its characters and all work presented here is purely for general entertainment.~

~**Revision Update: **09/23/2019 A friend outside the Fanfic community pointed out that my POVs were a tad chaotic and hard to follow in all three chapters that I posted. As I am fixing them, I am getting them back up in place of my original submissions. Apologies to all! Still trying to find my flow, here. Thank you for your patience!~

* * *

Death cast a glance at Dean and noticed something a bit odd about the other Winchester. For starters, it wasn't Dean. It wasn't even a figment of Sam's mental state. It was…hmm…he wasn't sure.

"No. Why are you even here? I'm not fighting this anymore!" Sam asked of his brother.

"You have to fight this!" Dean paused, pleading. "I can fix this, okay? But not if you shut me out."

Watching the will drain from his young charge's face, it took a moment for Death to register that Dean had turned his attention to him.

"It's not his time..." Dean urged towards the growing impatience of the Father of Reapers.

"That's for Sam to decide." As matter-of-fact as he could say, Death pondered. He was missing something; what was it?

Sam caught Death's gaze and he was suddenly aware that the smallest amounts of sympathy had begun to creep up on him. The poor soul, who had been indisputable in his decision to leave with him just moments ago now looked like a scared, little boy who wanted nothing more than to run to and hide behind his brother. Both glanced over when Dean spoke up again.

"Sam, listen to me. I made you a promise…in that church. You and me, come whatever." Dean kept Sam's gaze and continued. "Well, hell if this ain't whatever! But you got to let me in, man! You got to let me help!"

Death allowed an ever so subtle smile to besmirch his lips as he realized what it was he was looking at. Shame on him for not realizing it sooner and shame on Dean for pulling this on his brother.

"There ain't no me if there ain't no you." Dean begged Sam, who, Death could see, was drinking in every word.

Well played, Dean Winchester, but not this time.

"That would be endearing, Dean, if this was actually you speaking." Death added, quickly, before Sam could say "yes" to the thing wearing Dean's rugged good looks.

* * *

Sam caught his voice and his breath in a hiccup before turning to stare, dumbfounded, at Death.

"Wait…what?" Sam shifted his weight, and found himself moving away from them both. It occurred to him that this horseman that had come to collect him was merely trying to sway the situation in his favor. Of course it wasn't Dean. This was all in his head. It was just the part of him that wanted to live, to fight…to stay. Right?

Instead of responding with words, Death raised a hand and sent Dean flying backwards into the wall of the cabin.

"Dean!" Sam watched his brother hit hard against the wall just a few feet from him. His attempt to move and help was stalled by the sudden rigidity in his legs. He looked back over at Death, still in dire need of an explanation and feeling a bit spun. If this wasn't his brother or part of his own mentality, then what in the hell was it?

"That's not your brother. I can only assume that it is an angel."

"An angel…" Sam's voice sounded hollow before a tremor of hope crept up his spine. "Cass?"

"No. I don't think your brother's pet would have disguised himself." Death pointed out, walking closer to Sam.

Sam nodded, taking the point to heart. Cass wouldn't have had to appear as Dean. He trusted him almost as much as he trusted his big brother. Sinking back into the chair, shoulders sagging and arms wrapped around his lower torso, Sam glanced up at Death inquisitively. The reaper merely nodded towards the groaning across the room.

No longer able to maintain the guise, the thing formally known as Dean was trying very hard to appear formidable but it looked to Sam like he barely even had the energy to stand.

"Who in the hell…?" Though he tried to sound confident and enraged, the lump in his throat cracked his voice and painted him more as pitiful. Sam sighed inwardly, his inner pool of energy draining.

"My name is Ezekiel." The angel sounded about as done as Sam but that didn't stop it from continuing. "I was sent here…by your brother."

Sam recoiled and uncrossed his arms, resting them on his legs to help his upper half stay vertical. No way. Dean wouldn't go that far. But Sam found that even as the thought crossed his mind, he didn't believe it. His brother would go that far…and had.

"Why would…" Sam's words faltered as his mouth dried, prompting an irrelevant thought. _How is my mouth dry inside my own head?_

"Why would your brother want to try to save you?" Death offered when Sam's question trailed. He looked up and over at Death.

"Yes. N-No!" Sam willed his frustration out in a sharp breath. "That's not what I meant. Why would Dean try to trick me?" He turned back to look at Ezekiel. "Why not just ask?"

To which the angel responded, "Would you have said 'Yes?' "

The youngest Winchester scoffed and shook his head. "Yeah, no. I wouldn't have." Guess he shouldn't be all that surprised. Dean knew Sam probably better than he knew himself.

"Even if it meant saving your life?"

"If that is the only way for me to get out of this, then, no. It's not worth it."

"I give you my word, upon completion of your healing, I would leave."

"Oh yeah, the word of an angel. Like that hasn't screwed us six ways till Sunday before…" Sam's sarcastic response hardened the look on the vessel's face. Ezekiel turned away and appeared to be offended. _Oh the fuck well_, Sam thought. After Lucifer, the only thing riding shotgun in his melon was his acute guilt complex.

"I believe our young friend has made his decision." Death interred himself into the conversation and Sam was thankful. "It may be a wise idea for you to leave, now." Voice calm on the surface, Sam didn't fail to notice the chill that the words were soaked in. Raised goosebumps on his arms.

Ezekiel was gone by the time Sam turned back around to look.

"That, my boy, was your brother's last ditch effort to keep you alive." Death spoke as he resumed his seat next to Sam.

At some point, Sam's insecurity had broken down and reforged itself back into a hardened belief that he was making the right choice.

"Yeah, last ditch today." Sam ran his hands down his face, stopping to rub the stubble on his chin with tips of his fingers. "What will he try tomorrow? Or a month from now?" _Damn it, Dean_.

This was _exactly_ what Sam was trying to avoid. More secrets. More deals. More lies. It hadn't even occurred to Sam, prior to this, that Dean would stoop so low as to trick him into being taken for a joy ride by some angel that they didn't even know. His chest tightened as he turned to Death.

"I need one more thing from you, before we go." Sam's voice was sure and heated, but his eyes were sunken and brow furrowed. Even if Death did allow him his request, knowing what he'd have to deal with after twisted his stomach into knots.

"And that would be…?" Death's face was still, now, but Sam hadn't missed the flash of amusement when he'd said _before we go._

"I need to talk to my brother." Sam nodded his head to the side and added, "My _actual_ brother."

Dean would try to convince Sam to stay, he was sure of it. It's what Sam would do if the situation was reversed. It was their own personal insanity; repeating the same course of action and expecting a different turn of events. Although he had no idea how he was going to convince his brother to just let him go, he knew at his core that he would have to. _Or die trying_, his cynicism injected.

Death was looking Sam over when he returned his gaze back to the horseman. Sam tried to quell the fear that Death wouldn't take too kindly to all these favors, but the reaper simply nodded his head and stood back up.

"Very well."


	2. Chapter 2

~**A/N**: Alrighty! My chapters are just a wee bit shorter than I'd like but I am writing this more out of a need to practice than anything. I enjoyed writing this chapter and am already at work on the next one, but I'll be trying to space my submissions out a bit after this one. Got a little too gung-ho..._ Again, thank you all! *Frag* ~

~**Revision Update: **09/23/2019 A friend outside the Fanfic community pointed out that my POVs were a tad chaotic and hard to follow in all three chapters that I posted. As I am fixing them, I am getting them back up in place of my original submissions. Apologies to all! Still trying to find my flow, here. Thank you for your patience!~

* * *

The hospital had quieted after the angel attack. Alarms dimmed in the background, one after the other. No more screams. No more yelling. Doctors and nurses walked around in droves, checking on patients and assessing the damage done to the ward.

Dean heard but paid no mind to any of it. Every inch of him was focused on his deathly still brother laying in a hospital bed connected to too many machines. Even the angel at his bed-side had gone uncomfortably stagnant.

The thought of Ezekiel wearing his face to fool his brother into saying 'yes' set a cold stone in the pit of his stomach. Best of a bad situation? There was no best about this. But he couldn't lose Sam. Not when he thought stopping him from doing the trials would save him. If Sam died now, what was the point? What in the hell good would it do? And why in the Hell was Sam talking to Death as if he'd already given up; taking away Dean's ability to trade his life for his little brother's in the process? The cold stone melted and became fuel for his ire.

Sammy had to say 'yes.' Even if he hated Dean for it. His air supply suddenly felt vacant, the notion that Sam could ever hate him shallowing out his breaths. _Better pissed at me than dead_, his inner voice reasoned. Besides, he had his own bone to pick when his brother was back on his feet. Vexed, he found himself hoping they'd get to go a round or two. Meant that Sam was well enough to take a hit and to reciprocate. Meant Sam was alive. Meant everything was going to be ok.

Dean's impatience brought him to his feet. The sigils scribbled on the walls blurred together, the lack of sleep or food since dragging his half-dead brother from the church made itself blatant. The distant tug of nausea curdled his stomach. Going toe-to-toe with a bunch of angelic dick-bags probably didn't help any but he'd be damned if they were going to interrupt Sam getting better.

And Sammy just had to get better.

Pacing now, Dean slid his hands over the top of his head, cupping the back of it and leaving his arms raised. It shouldn't be taking this long and his mind raced with every possible scenario. What was Ezekiel doing? Had Sam saw through him? Was his brother too far gone? His throat constricted at that thought, forcing out a sharp, pained breath.

No. Pushing the thought down as quick as it had come, Dean shook his head. Sam was a stubborn son of a bitch. No way in hell he meant what he said to Death. There had to have been a reason. There was always a reason with his little brother. Sam_ never_ laid down arms. That was _his_ usual go-to; being the tired older brother with no reason left to keep fighting.

Except Dean always did have a reason, even the times he saw none. Sammy. Now it was looking like his little brother was struggling to find his way back and he was incapable of helping him himself; effectively burying him under the weight of his hopelessness, fear and the oncoming asphyxiation of grief.

The room had started to feel constricted; everything seemed too close. Wanting more than anything to just wheel his brother out, put him in the Impala and drive them home, he settled for opening the window to take in some fresh air. It briefly occurred to him that opening the window wasn't the brightest of ideas but he dismissed the impulse to close it. The warding was void now. One damn pane of glass wasn't going to stop any angel that wanted to get in. A breeze brushed against his face and as he breathed it in, he found himself unable to find any comfort in it.

His arms and legs were starting to tingle now. Recognizing that his anxiety over losing Sam was tearing down his own physical resistance, he attempted to shake the nerves out, rolling his shoulders and willing his body to relax. He needed to lock it up. For them both.

A sudden thud startled Dean into a near jump. Blind hope had risen inside him that Sam, riding shotgun to a pearly-gate prick or no, was up and ready to get the hell out of dodge. Dean allowed the smallest twitches of a smile as he turned to face whatever the noise had been.

Instead he was greeted by a still comatose Sam, looking more and more pale with each passing minute. Dean closed his eyes and privately snapped at himself for allowing such fool-hardy wishes. Of course it wasn't Sam. _When have we ever been that lucky_, his thoughts soured.

Feeling the need to be in close contact with his little brother, he made his way to the side of the bed closest to the window and rested his hand on Sam's. It was cold. Not "icy grip of death" cold but close enough to elicit a demoralized sob. It took him biting the insides of his cheeks so hard they bled to keep any more unintentional emotion at bay. _Not the time for a meltdown, damn it, keep it together! _However, it didn't take much to figure out that his will was fading. Soon, no amount of his usual bravado would keep him in one piece.

"Sammy…you gotta fight this, man..." His voice was barely audible, no more than a slightly formulated breath.

"Death has…your brother..." The words spoken further cracked the hold Dean was fighting so desperately to keep on his sanity. It was then that he realized that the angel was no longer standing at his brother's side. The thud earlier must have been him slumping to the ground.

"Ezekiel!" Dean moved around the bed and knelt down next to him, irrationally searching his face for any indication that it was just the vessel he spoke to now and that the angel had managed to acquire his brother's permission.

"I…failed…" Ezekiel whispered through labored breathing. Dean could see the apology in his eyes but had no interest in it; no need for it. Was Sam really choosing Death, literally, over him?

Dean's temperature flared and fluctuated; his flesh grew hot to the touch while his insides prickled with a deep cold. Everything around him started to spin and had he not been kneeling already, he would have fallen over. There was a high probability that he was about to lose the empty contents of his stomach.

Everything started to crumble. "Sammy…"

"Hello, Dean." Mused a familiar voice just above the ailing eldest.

Dean glanced up through his blurred vision and barely made out Death standing over him, seeming pleased with himself. If it weren't for the fact that this asshole quite literally held his brother's life in his hands, and the fact that he couldn't see straight, he'd have already started swinging. He needed to blame something for the current situation and, try as he might, couldn't blame his little brother. Horseman or not, Death was something to hit.

"Come now, Dean, you must have known I wouldn't let Sam be fooled by this winged imp's parlor tricks?"

"Leave my…" Dean's voice trailed as another wave of nausea took him. "Stay away from him…"

"If that is what your brother truly desires, then by all means." Death's voice was as calm as Dean's was irate.

"Of course it's want he wants…" Dean hazard a try at standing, no longer willing to be looking up at…anything. Having Death here to yell at helped him regain some of his composure and his strength, but only just. He was having to partially lean against the machine behind him. "Sam wouldn't just quit."

"Quit? Is that what you think he's doing? Is that what dying is to you boys? Quitting?" Death scoffed as if Dean had suggested the most despicable accusation he could fling towards Sam.

"What would you call it, then?" His voice trembled against his wishes. "Accepting the inevitable?"

"Peace, Dean. Rest. He certainly has earned it." Death responded, almost softly. Dean figured he knew Death well enough to know that sympathy wasn't part of his ploy. He just couldn't quite figure out what he was playing at. And earned rest? Of course Sammy earned rest! He was due a whole lifetime's worth. But…on a beach with his big brother, watching babes in bikinis, drinking too much and hustling the younger hot-heads out of daddy's inheritance money. When this was over, Dean was taking Sam to the frickin Bahamas.

"Why'd you stop him?"

"And let him be ridden around by that lump of light there against his wishes…" Death clucked at Dean and lightly shook his head. "…or his knowledge?"

"I wasn't going to hide it from him!" Dean caught his frustration in his throat and forced his tone to even.

"Then why disguise the angel?" Death asked. "Who did a fine job of portraying your love for your brother, by the way. Sam would have said yes to him had I not intervened."

The weight of Death's words vanquished the air around Dean and now to stand, he was having to set both hands on Sammy's bed and lean onto them. He'd been so close. If Death had just kept his trap shut and went about his apathetic business as usual, he'd have his brother back right now. He distantly noticed the stark contrast between the tan of his hands and the fading color across the tall husk of a man lying in front of him. _Definitely taking Snow White here on a cruise_. Hollow thoughts to distract the distraught.

"Sam never would have agreed to being possessed, even if it meant saving his life." His defensive tick kicked in. "But it would only have been until he was healed enough to not need the angelic assist."

"Ever the big brother, eh, Dean? Making decisions for little Sammy?"

"No! That's not…" Dean spat his words at Death before taking in a deep breath and lowering his head, jutting his chin into his chest. His hands flexed in and out of balled fists. This was getting him nowhere. He just needed to explain this to his brother. Maybe there was still time to convince Sam; to bring him back.

"I need to talk to him." Dean exerted his last bit of energy in an attempt to restrain himself. He rationalized that his temper and foul words would only tempt Death to leave him where he was, grieving and broken. "Please."

"Funny," Death said with a hint of gratification, "Sam made the same request of me concerning you."

Dean's head drew backwards, his eyes blinking in quick procession. Sam sent Death here? Not that it mattered. Different means, same end. At least he hoped so.

"Please, Death…just…take me to my brother." Dean was quaking, his body tense. Between his irritation at this high and mighty lover of street-vendor food and the now very real possibility of losing Sam for good, his nerves were shot and the numb tingling from earlier had started to settle in again.

He _needed_ Sam right now; needed to save his little brother.

Death took in a deep breath himself, feigning a look of contemplation. At the exhale, he listed his head to the side and offered Dean his hand.

"Alright. But only because Sam asked to see you first."


	3. Chapter 3

~**Revision Update: **09/24/2019 A friend outside the Fanfic community pointed out that my POVs were a tad chaotic and hard to follow in all three chapters that I posted. As I am fixing them, I am getting them back up in place of my original submissions. Apologies to all! Still trying to find my flow, here. Thank you for your patience!~

* * *

Sam waited for Death to return with Dean, still trying to wrap his head around everything that had happened over the past few days. It had occurred to him early on in this fever dream of his that it would be pointless for him to die now. He'd might as well have finished the trials and at least have died for the greater good. It was to that point that he humored the "Dean" in his mind. It wasn't in him to give up or to even consider that as a viable option.

Then "Bobby" showed up and started talking legacies and how much he'd already sacrificed for the world and the fight in him had started to fade. Not for nothing, he'd been to Hell and back, soulless, tortured and had lost more than he'd ever care to remember.

But so had Dean. And Dean wanted him to fight. Didn't he owe that to his brother? Wasn't that the whole reason he let the power behind the trials tear him apart, unintentionally? Because Dean needed him? Time after time that he had let his lack of judgement turn him down all the wrong paths and his brother still believed that it was, and always would be, the Winchesters against the world.

Sam inhaled and glanced around the room his was in. It was warm, comfortable and just the smallest bit familiar; reminiscent of one of Bobby's ol' hunting cabins that doubled as a safe house. The quiet was reassuring but the isolation gnawed at his growing anxiety. That ever-present guilt had settled into his gut and he dreaded seeing Dean again, knowing full well that his brother would never understand his intentions and would also likely never forgive him. Letting his brother down was his ultimate sin, and he was about to let him down in a way he could never recover from.

He'd been conflicted initially. It was his nature to want to come back from whatever Hell, metaphorical or otherwise, he was in to be with his brother. But how many more times could they circumvent death? How many more sacrifices were they going to make for each other? Dean was a strong hunter, focused, until Sammy was put in harm's way and then all bets were off. He was tired of being a liability; of being the little brother that had to be watched, taken care of and protected.

He was done getting in Dean's way.

Sam ran his hands through his hair, pulled it back and closed his eyes.

"Sam…"

He jerked his head up, his gaze gravitating towards the voice he'd come to rely on since before he could walk. Dean stood in front of Death, looking so much more worse for wear. His brother's eyes were red and wet, blood dried on his forehead and cheeks. It took everything in him not to stand and rush over, make sure his big brother was alright and to tell him that everything was going to be ok. That would be a lie and there was no more time for those.

"Call for me when you're ready, Sam." Death spoke casually, turning to leave the brothers alone.

"He's not calling for you anytime soon.." Dean muttered through gritted teeth, but Death was gone before the words completely left his mouth.

"Dean…" His resolve was melting with every passing second that he sat there watching his brother watch him.

* * *

Dean broke the distance between he and Sam, pulling his brother to his feet and gripping him in a hug so tight, he could barely take in a breath. He didn't care. About the angels falling. About the demons. Or even about Cass being human and hunted. He didn't give a rat's ass about anything except the image of his freakishly tall brother now enveloped in his arms.

"What are you doing, Sam…" Dean whispered, his voice quivering into the nape of his brother's neck. The wall between his self-control and his emotions was cracking. Raw torment twisted his face. Seeing Sam, even just a projection of him, tore away at his soul. While his little brother looked more lively than he had on the outside, it was painfully obvious that he was fading…and fast.

"What am _I_ doing?" Sam glared and tensed but softened just as quickly. Dean realized that he'd done the same. "An angel, Dean, really?"

Dean closed his eyes and prepared himself for the ass-chewing he knew he deserved but wasn't willing to admit he'd been totally in the wrong. If Sam had said 'yes' it would have kept his brother breathing and that is all that mattered. Save Sam. Keep Sam with him and fighting. What was he without his baby brother…?

Now he didn't even know where to begin. Back in the hospital room, he'd had his explanation all planned out and ready; willing to give Sammy a talking to of his own. But in the moment…he couldn't even think straight. He wasn't even sure he could pull away from his brother, convinced that if he did, Sam would just vanish.

When Sam broke the hug, it was all he could do not to verbally object. He kept his hands on his brother's arms, though to keep Sam there or to keep himself grounded, he wasn't sure.

"Dean..."

"I will not apologize for trying to save you, Sam, I won't." Dean finally found his voice, broken as it may be. "I can't."

"Save me? Dean, I am ready…willing…to go."

Dean shook his head as if he could shake the words away, not allowing what he'd just heard to register. Because if it did, he would have to admit to them both that Sam had actually given up the fight.

No, if there was still even a smidgen of a chance Dean could convince Sam, he was going to take it.

"Explain that to me." Dean's voice was solid and he'd managed to insert a small amount of anger but it wasn't going to hold for much longer. One subtle push and he'd fall apart.

Sam brought his arms up in a shrug, effectively breaking the hold Dean had on him.

"We stopped the trials so that I wouldn't die, right?" Sam asked, keenly aware of the cracks in his own resolve, face to face with the real Dean. "So why am I still on my death bed?"

Dean recoiled at the use of that term, pushing it into the cave of denial in which he had started muscling every indication that Sam was about to be taken from him.

"You don't have to be. Ezekiel can heal you!" The eldest took his brother by the shoulders again and shook him, gently, fearful that too much force would break Sam into pieces. "I know it's not ideal, Sammy, but it's the only shot we got!"

"No. Not the only one."

"What? You die?" Exasperated, he shot a look of ridicule at Sam. "In what universe is that even _considered_ a 'shot?' "

"Aside from Cass, when has trusting an angel ever gone our way? Do you honestly think I'd be ok if he decided to take over because I'm too weak to even keep myself out of a coma?"

Dean laughed. "Ezekiel? The dude can barely get it up!"

When Sam didn't share in his amusement, he tried a different approach. "Not that it matters, because you're Sam fricking Winchester and you wrestled control back from the damn devil himself! This half-fry angel ain't got nothing on Lucifer….or you for that matter!"

"On gallons of demon blood and at peak physical condition!" Sam's tone had heightened slightly. Dean noticed the dark around his brother's eyes growing more profound.

"Details." Dean argued, trying to keep his brother engaged for as long as he could. "There is absolutely nothing that you can't do, little brother. When you _fight_." Dean's smile was strained but honest. "So why won't you fight?"

"Let's say I do. And Ezekiel heals me and leaves and everything is…peaches." Sam spoke the last word with an exaggerated wiggle of his head. "What happens when the next big bad comes down and we're stuck between choosing to do the right thing…and each other?"

Dean pondered that thought but only long enough to cast himself into his flippant sarcasm and grant Sam a big grin. "Then we'll kick it in the ass and move on!"

"Yeah, until you give yourself up for me…or me for you…and the world _burns_ for our choices." Sam's eyes narrowed, his mouth pulled back into a hard line. "I could have shut the gates of Hell, but didn't because you talked me down."

"Yeah, and I'd do it again in a heartbeat, too." Eyebrows raised, Dean forced all humor from his face to fix his brother with as dead-pan an expression as he could.

"Because you feel like you can't do this without me. Despite all the messed up crap I've done, good intentions or not. You'll always choose me and I'll always choose you."

"I _can't_ do this without you, Sam. Hell, I don't _want_ to." Dean straightened himself to his full height and let his shoulders square up. "How many times have you kept me from giving in? How many times have your brought _me_ back from the edge? And..and…what? I'm supposed to just let _you_ go?"

"Yes." Sam's face was void of any emotion but Dean knew the kid well enough to know that this was a front. What he didn't know, however, was just how far down the rabbit hole his brother had gone. Not knowing scared him.

"No, Sam!" Dean spat, trying to use his confusion and rage at his brother's sudden willingness to take the eternal dirt nap to keep the panic out of his voice. "That ain't happenin'! I mean…why would I?"

* * *

Sam felt like he was growing smaller and smaller in the face of all of this. He felt the weight of Dean's stare push him down and it was growing increasingly difficult to stay his objective. But he had to. Backing down now would just prove his own point to himself. He let the silence hang for a harrowing moment and then took a shaky breath in. At the exhale, he spoke.

"Because you don't need me, Dean." Sam's words hung heavy the moment he let them loose.

"Don't need…" Dean brought his hands to his hips and looked down, then right back up at his brother. Sam flinched at the pool of shock and anger in his eyes. The thought had never even occurred to Dean, he was sure.

"Have you _completely_ gone off the reservation?" Dean glared at him.

Sam's face softened again and he offered up a half-smile, hoping to diffuse the bomb he'd just lit. "Not yet, no."

"Then what in the blazes do you mean 'I don't need you?' " Dean's eyes hardened, brows burrowed deep into the bridge of his nose. "Of course I need you. You're my brother!"

"You don't..." Sam shrugged and took a half step back, hands raised in submission when he noticed the tight balls of bone and flesh his brother's hands had formed.

"Whoa, hey! I'm not trying to pick a fight or…" Sam struggled for a moment to find the words, using exaggerated movements with his hands as if the action would Abracadabra his meaning forth. "…or tell you that everything will be alright after I'm gone….but I just….." He let the words drop when Dean went still.

Sam all but watched the soul leave his brother and he could hazard a guess at which words warranted the reaction. He'd said '_after I'm gone'_ and that was the first honest to God indication that he was, in fact, not going back home with Dean. Regret clutched his heart as he started to move towards him.

"Don't…" Dean backed away and he watched his brother go from despair to outrage in the time it took to blink.

"All the times I've saved you. All the times I've sacrificed…for you." Sam wondered if his brother knew he was playing straight into his reason for leaving. "Every time I set aside what was good for the hunt to make sure you were ok…"

"That's the problem, Dean! That's the whole issue! I don't want to be the reason anyone else gets hurt." Sam was feeling low-spirited now. "I don't want to keep being the reason that yo-."

"And yet how many times have _you_ worked yourself to the bone…to make sure everyone _else_ was ok? How many times did you push down the bullshit that was eating you alive just so you could save _everyone else_ or…hell…just to keep me from worrying?" Dean had taken a measured step forward and Sam could see that he had just about broken his brother. No longer able to determine if what he was doing was the right thing, he started to unravel himself.

"I gave up hunting just because I didn't want to go it alone, Dean!" Sam was starting to feel vulnerable, his words no longer without the company of tears. "I left you…to rot…in Purgatory…for a _year_. All because I wanted a normal life and couldn't face the thought of hunting without you…"

"And you expect me to keep going without you?" Sam cringed at his brother's raised voice and took a step away reflexively. "There ain't no normal for me! I told you that I saw no light at the end of this tunnel and you.." Dean's voice caught but he recovered quick enough that Sam couldn't interrupt. "_You_ said you saw a way out and begged me to let you take me to it…"

"Dean, I.." Sam started as Dean turned away, shaking his head. But not before he'd caught the glimmer of wet stream down his brother's face.

* * *

_You are not leaving me, Sammy…_Dean thought to himself but it felt more like a begging wish he was putting out into the universe. He ran his hands down his face to wipe the traitorous tear away. Sam had allowed himself to believe that he would actually be ok without him? That he didn't need his little brother?

Sure, the kid had screwed things over royally a few times over the years but so had he. His little brother might have popped the top on Lucifer's box but his unwillingness to endure torture was what started that whole domino shit-storm in the first place. And as for not looking for him when he went to Purgatory…well…while he still wasn't sure he completely understood Sam's reasoning behind that, he had long since forgiven him for it.

Because the only reason either of them ever made it to the other side of any of the mass amount of trouble they'd been through, was because they had each other. And he so desperately needed Sammy to see that…again. He'd thought he'd gotten through to him before, but maybe still being on the verge of death had made his little brother feel like it was what he had coming to him.

Dean had sacrificed for Sam but Sam had also sacrificed for him…for the world. He'd been willing to die, and had, on more than one occasion for the greater good.

Man was a damn hero.

He glanced back at him and it didn't escape his notice that between the tears, the raised voices and the emotional obstacle course they were running…his little brother was starting to look like he had back in that church.

Options were becoming null and as the seconds of silence ticked by like the swaying of a pendulum, the first wave of recognition hit that his self-sacrificing little brother might be beyond saving .


	4. Chapter 4

~**A/N**: I wrote...and rewrote...this chapter several times before landing on something I was comfortable posting. So here it is, the final chapter. I'm on to the second part. Thank you, as always! **Frag**~

* * *

The sun inside his mind was starting to set, casting pools of various shades of oranges, pinks and golds across the floor. Sam tried to ignore the probability that this occurrence was likely a mirror for what was happening to him on the outside. It was too cliché not to be.

His brother had turned back to face him, though neither spoke. Neither knew what to say that hadn't already been said. Sam intently watched his brother until a flash of movement behind Dean caught his attention.

Death stood, poised, lifting a hand and tapping his pointer finger against his wrist. He cast Sam a knowing look and was gone again. Sam closed his eyes and nodded, pressing down the urge to give in to his brother's wishes. Despite his belief that Dean, and the world, would be better off if he permitted himself to stay gone, he did not _want_ to leave his brother.

Sam wanted to always be there, laughing with him, being the focus of his pranks; the butt of his jokes. It was his job to keep Dean on the straight and narrow when his brother's conscience started to fail him. The youngest Winchester had been so sure that everything would turn out ok when this had all started. He'd wanted to lead Dean to a better life, like he'd promised. The last thing he ever wanted to do, was leave his brother alone.

But here he was. No good ways back and unwilling to be the burden his brother had to bear any longer.

And his time was running out.

"I know what you must think of me." Sam spoke up cautiously, eager to try and fix things before his chance died with him. "I know you think I'm giving up…but I'm not." Sam had moved closer to Dean, fearful that the anger the other felt would keep his usual impenetrable walls of obstinacy erect.

Dean didn't back away, for which Sam was grateful. Instead, he surprised his younger brother by pulling him in and wrapping both arms around his neck. Sam took in a few quick breaths and wrapped his arms around Dean in return. Although he knew his big brother was usually pretty good about reading him, he wondered how frail he must look for Dean to have given up his pissed pretense.

About as frail as he was starting to feel, Sam gathered. His body felt like it was unattached, like when he got drunk or was tripping balls on professional grade painkillers. No way that was a good sign.

"I think you _think _that this is your only option; your only way to atone for some of the messed up decisions you've made. I also know that you think that you're some kind of weight that I have had to carry around since we were little." Dean pulled his brother to him tighter as Sam nodded at his brother's words. "And for that I think you're an idiot."

Sam laughed through his tears. Tears? When did he start crying? Sam looked around behind his brother and noticed the light was practically gone from the room. It was dark now and not "by the light of the moon" dark…it was empty. He could barely make out the window pane or the logs that made up the wall. How would the-

"Sam."

Sam startled back into himself, feeling unnerved at how easily distracted he was. He pulled back from Dean with a tilted head, searching his brother's eyes. "Hmm?"

Dean furrowed his brow at this brother, prompting Sam to tilt his head in the other direction. He felt like a puppy. A puppy? Ah, his infamous puppy eyes that Dean was always teasing him about. Sam chuckled to himself.

"Sam!" Dean had grabbed his face and was now forcing him to look straight. Sam was starting to feel dizzy. "Come on, man, I need you to focus…" Dean's eyes were swollen and wet and they stirred a deep feeling of fear and regret in the fading Winchester.

Sam had to strain to think but in a moment of clarity, he shook himself, mentally and physically; trying to regain his control. He knew deep down, now, that he didn't have long left and he needed to keep it together.

"I-I'm sorry…I just….I can't…" Sam breathed out his frustration and took in a sharp breath when his brother pulled him back into his arms. He could feel Dean trying to fight his own emotions down and a strong wave of guilt tore through him. What was he doing?

"De-" A tremor took him suddenly, almost pulling him from his brother and down to his knees. There was no pain. No real physical discomfort. It felt like being light-headed and tired and just…he wanted to sleep.

* * *

"Whoa, hey…it's ok. You're ok." Dean helped guide his brother down and knelt next to him. Out of habit, he looked him over; realizing the futility of trying to find a cause for his condition. He knew what was wrong.

He was losing his brother.

He looked around for Death and took in the black that surrounded them. They were alone. Narrowing his eyes at nothing, his thoughts seethed.

_Don't you dare take him….you son of a bitch….not yet…._

Dean tried to grab his brother's attention again but it seemed like he was in a daze. So he defaulted to just holding him. He let Sam rest his head on his shoulder as he rubbed a hand across his back.

"Listen, Sammy…." He choked on his words. Looking up at the ceiling, he called on every power he knew to save his brother and to steel himself. "You have _never_ been a burden. You hear me?"

That snapped Sam out of it, at least a little. His brother pulled back and the look on his face was pure denial and anguish. Watching as Sam shook his head, his hair swaying with the movement, Dean reached across, grabbed his brother by the sides of his neck and guided his face back up to meet his.

"Hey, no, I mean it. I meant when I said there is nothing I would ever put in front of you. You're my pain-in-the-ass little brother and I will _always_ love you…" Not one ounce of hesitation slipped between Dean and his need for Sam to hear what he had to say. "…I will _always_ look out for you. Not cause I have to. Not cause you need it. But because I _want_ to. Because that's what family does."

Sam tried to nod and brought his hands up to rest on Dean's wrists, but his presence had started to flicker in and out of view. Dean's eyes grew wide, though through his grief, there was not a speck of white among them. His hands fell as the corporeal form he'd been hanging on to faded into translucency.

"Sam…!" Panic shook him. "Sammy!" Dean reached out for his brother as his brother reached out for him. When his hands were able to grasp solid flesh again, the relief that fell over him about made him dizzy. No, he realized, he'd been holding his breath.

"So much for Death letting you decide last call…" Dean offered with no real humor as he slowly released the strain in his chest. Sam, however, smiled and nodded and that little spark in his brother rattled Dean. The close call seemed to have brought him out of his fog.

"Guess I overestimated his patience…" Sam responded in kind with a smirk as he started lessening his grasp on Dean's jacket. It took a little more effort for the eldest Winchester to mimic the gesture. When Sam had let him go completely, Dean forced himself to smile; if for no other reason than to keep the light-heartedness going while he knew Sammy was losing his grip on life. He'd be damned if his brother was going to die thinking he was mad at or disappointed in him.

_I'll be damned if he's going to die._ Stubborn as ever, every inch of him still wanted to deny it; to fight. But he knew this time may actually be the truth. If Sammy died…he would be damned.

* * *

Sam had managed to bring himself back around but had also viciously reprimanded himself for allowing his attention to dwindle in the first place. He had something he needed his brother to hear, to understand. It was going to drain the last of his strength, but it would be well worth it.

"Dean…you are the strongest hunter…man…person…." Sam sniffled and tried to hyper-focus his wandering thoughts. "…I have ever known. You're stronger than dad…" Confusion twisted his brother's face as he listened to his rambling. "…stronger than me…" That secured a fervent physical rebuttal from the eldest Winchester, who had moved to wipe his face free of tears once again.

"That's no-"

"No, Dean…y'need to hear…" Sam shook his head at his broken speech. "…to listen."

Dean had started to protest but Sam hushed him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He could feel himself weaken again. The image of Death essentially counting down replayed in his head.

"You've always taken care of me…" His voice had started to become less audible. "…always been there for me…and for that, I will always be grateful." Sam smiled and ignored the tears in his eyes. He could only focus on so much. "But it's time you focus…on _you. _I'm ok. I will be ok. And so will you."

Dean looked like he was going to be sick.

"I can't do this, Sammy…not without you…" Sam embraced his brother as he spoke, pushing Dean's face into his chest. Dean immediately brought his arms up and clung to Sam.

"Yes, you can…and you will." The cabin was disappearing around them and it was becoming impossible for him to keep his hold on just being there. Something was tugging at him on a molecular level. Squeezing his eyes shut, Sam pulled back enough to press his lips against the top of Dean's head, even as it shook in defiance to his words. "…I love you."

* * *

Dean jerked himself back when he could no longer feel the warmth of his brother around him. Their eyes met and his face mirrored the despair on Sam's even as he started to disappear from view.

"No no no no…."

He reached out to frantically grab at the mist that had formed in front of him, watching it swirl and dance right through his fingers. He closed his eyes and tried to will Sam back into existence, feeling his energy dissolve into the nothingness that he was left alone in.

"Sam..?"

No response came. Only the distant blip of a machine.

"…Sam…?" His chin quivered as he opened his eyes to face the empty in which he knelt. A hand grasped his shoulder and he made no move to remove it. The damn noise in the background grew louder; closer.

"Time to go back, Dean…" Spoke an uncharacteristically sympathetic voice. One he knew he recognized but it was not the voice he needed so desperately to hear right now, so he blocked it out. The beeping was now resounding through his skull.

A blink later and he was back in the hospital room. The machine was all he could hear, chest constricting so tightly he wasn't able to draw breath. Dean turned to look at the figure on the bed, feeling like he was moving through molasses. He didn't see the nurse come in, followed by a few others who were pushing in a cart. The doctor stood in front of him but he looked right through the man, unable to understand anything that was being said or asked. Why was everything moving so slow..?

He blinked as the machine quit its incessant beeping to give off one last cry. Unbearably loud and piercing, it ran Dean through to his core.

A nurse checked his watch. Another wrote something down on a board. The doctor patted Dean on the shoulder before turning away to speak with the nurse that called the time. Dean's eyes never left the bed.

"….Sammy…?"


End file.
